


Pailletten

by huevoplatano



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Amnesia, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huevoplatano/pseuds/huevoplatano
Summary: Morty wakes up from an accident he cannot remember to find strange things are happening.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WHO'S READY FOR ANOTHER FIC i know i am
> 
> i was originally gonna do this as a long oneshot, but then realized ain't nobody got time for that. i'll just write this as i go, so that i won't rush what i have planned. might put in more than i had planned, might not. idk yet. i'll just keep writing till i don't feel like it anymore.
> 
> but this was based on a dream i had many months ago. so i figured, why not write that dream in fic form. heheh :)

“Morty?”

A familiar voice brought him to his senses. Though he was groggy and having a hard time coming out of sleep, he still recognized the frantic tone of his mother. It must’ve been a school day and he’d slept in again, or something like that. Mom never usually bothered him in the mornings unless it was for something important, like say--being late for school.

He opened his eyes, and was taken aback to see--not his familiar bedroom ceiling with all the shitty cracks in the wall and the peeling paint--but bright lights that made him close his eyes once again. What the hell? The room was cold, almost too cold, and he felt himself shiver once he became aware of that feeling, wanting to bundle up under the covers and go back to sleep. But, even the mattress underneath him felt unfamiliar and too comfortable. Not at all like his lumpy mattress he was so used to waking up to, moaning and groaning because of how uncomfortable it was.

“Honey?” Mom’s voice came again, and he willed himself to open his eyes once more and, once they had adjusted to the harsh lighting above him, could see she stood mere feet away from him, a worried expression on her face. Dad was right next to her, mirroring her expression.

“Mom?” He tried to sit up in bed, but found the moment he moved, his head pounded with a headache unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and it made him wince in pain, until Mom rushed to his side and pushed him down gently by his shoulder.

“No, don’t move, honey. You’ve hurt yourself.” She coaxed him back onto the bed, and he felt the headache subside once he’d rested back onto the pillow. With his eyes more adjusted to his surroundings, he could make out the weirdly clean white walls, the bedside table with the vase full of flowers and what he could only assume was a get-well card lying next to it. A tv rested in the corner of the room, running some news program he couldn’t really hear, but what he could hear were indistinct voices buzzing from all around him, like there were crowds of people moving in and out of the place around him.

He could only assume he was in one place and looked to his mother for clarification. “A-am I i-i-in a hospital?”

She nodded, smiling at him in a gentle manner, and ran her fingers through his hair as he settled back down in the bed, now more alert of where he was, although still confused what was actually going on. “Do you remember what happened, honey?”

He shook his head, looking off at his Dad who had sat down in one of the chairs across from the bed as though he would offer some insight on why he was here. But, Mom continued to talk once he admitted he had no idea what in the fuck had happened.

“You fell down a staircase at school and hit your head.”

He stared at his mom, clutching at the blanket around him and felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. That was...so lame? He thought she was going to tell him he’d been in some freak accident like a car crash or his school bus caught on fire or something horrifically dramatic like that. But--falling down the stairs? The fuck? What a dumb way to end up in the hospital. It must’ve been a pretty damn long staircase for him to knock himself out like that. He certainly had a terrible headache as though he’d been bashed in the head really hard, but he didn’t remember falling or doing anything like that. There was little he could do but take her word for it.

Still, he blushed with embarrassment at the thought of what the other kids at school were gonna say when they found out something like that hospitalized him. He already got made fun of enough as it was, he didn’t need some dude puffing out his chest at him and calling him weak for hitting his head too hard. God, what was wrong with him? Like, it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, sitting there in bed with a killer headache while his parents sat worrying over him, but surely he thought something like that wouldn’t have put him in the damn hospital of all places. It wasn’t like he was made of glass, but sheesh.

He thought about ways he could try to talk it up if he got mocked for this later. Even though he didn’t remember even falling, but if someone gave him shit for this, he figured he could make out like he was bleeding to death or something to get them off his back. Although, a nurse came in not long after he’d woken up and told him he’d be just fine and was good to go, though he would suffer from his headache for a while afterward.

Ugh, of all the stupid situations he could wind up in, this had to be one of them. It wasn’t like he’d never been in the hospital before, but at least back then, Morty had a broken arm or something serious like that. The fuck was he supposed to say when he got back to school? Oh, he fell down the stairs. Big deal. People fall down the stairs every day, and they just get up and walk it off.

His embarrassment hung around like an unpleasant storm cloud as he sank into his seat in the back of his car while his parents chatted aimlessly about something or other in the front. He wasn’t even sure what to say to them, as they had probably thought the worst, being his parents and all, when he’d gotten knocked out from this, only to be told eh, it wasn’t that bad. The blush stayed well after they’d driven up into the driveway. Even after he climbed out of the car and walked through the front door, he heard the familiar voice of his sister as she ran up to him from her spot on the living room couch.

“Morty, oh my _god_ , are you okay?!”

“Y-yeah?” He awkwardly pat her back, not sure why his sister was freaking out this bad over something like this. If anything, he figured she wouldn’t give two shits, maybe not tell him that to his face, but definitely not have a reaction like this. “J-just a little head bump is all, haha…” The blush crept up to his face when Summer squeezed him tighter, almost pulling the air from him.

“Someone at school said you broke your legs or something.” She finally released him, pulling back long enough to give him a concerned look, and he shrugged. It wasn’t like he even remembered what the hell happened. Everyone had told him he had fallen, and he had no choice but to believe them when they said that. Morty didn’t remember falling, but who was he to question them if they said so?

“O-obviously not…” Feeling awkward again, he broke away from his sister to head up the stairs to his room. He had a weird feeling he was supposed to be doing something important, like school work, or writing that paper he’d been putting off for a week now. Maybe he could actually sit down to study or something. Morty was feeling unusually productive, and didn’t want to waste the energy he had now. May as well use it.

After he’d sat down at his desk to get to work, he found it was easier to concentrate then. When normally, he would be getting distracted and stop himself to play Minecraft, he actually leaned back in his chair at one point, looking at the clock to see a couple of hours had passed and he had a decent-looking paper written before him. It was supposed to be a research topic on something dumb, like the effects of global warming—you know the usual, but he would’ve much rather done literally anything else than sat down to write something like that. It was weird, but maybe his fall and getting knocked unconscious had knocked some sense in him so to say, and gave him more energy to be productive.

That didn’t really make any sense, but it wasn’t like he was complaining.

“Honey?” Mom opened his bedroom door, speaking in that gentle tone, the same one she’d used when he’d first woken up in the hospital earlier that day, and he turned away from his paper. “It’s time for dinner.”

Oh thank god, he was starved. He wasn’t sure when the last time he ate a decent meal was, but it must’ve been ages ago, as right at the mention of food from his mother, he could feel that cramping sensation in the pit of his stomach when he thought about stuffing some mashed potatoes down his throat.

Standing from his chair, he followed his mom downstairs to see the rest of his family seated at the dinner table, and Summer greeted him once again before he sat down in his usual spot before he began to devour his mashed potatoes. Oh cool, he hadn’t known Mom was making this, but it was a coincidence he had imagined eating some, and now he was. The cramping feeling slowly began to go away once he’d downed a few mouthfuls, and he never remembered a time when potatoes tasted so good. His mother wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but there were times he questioned what exactly was on his plate and it caused him to lose his appetite nonetheless.

But, everything tasted amazing. It was almost surreal. Maybe his mother had pulled out the big guns because of the whole hospital thing and was trying to make him feel better when he knew the inevitable embarrassing day he was going to have to face tomorrow at school when people asked him what kind of horrible injury he could have gotten only for him to say—fell down.

It was when he had lost himself in the buzz of the conversation his mother had with his father then, she was telling him about some horse she’d saved earlier that week at the clinic, without going into the gruesome details while they ate—but Morty perked up in that moment when he realized something. Looking around at the table, his parents chatting back and forth about this and that, his sister seeming to be engrossed in their conversation as well, it hit him in that moment someone wasn’t at the table with them.

“Hey, where’s Rick?” Morty spoke up through the conversation, not meaning to interrupt, but was so taken aback by the missing presence, he just had to say something.

Mom stopped her story in an instant, looking over at him across the table in nothing but confusion. “Where’s who?”

Morty felt himself start, as his dad and sister were now staring at him as though just as confused as his mom, and as though he’d lost his mind. He nervously darted his eyes back and forth to the empty spot at the table where he was sure—almost _positive_ someone else used to sit too. “You know...um.” The name had come to him so naturally before, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized—he had no fucking idea. He could have sworn he had pictured someone in his head to go with the name that just spewed from his mouth a second ago, but now he only had the name, and no face to go with it. “You know...Rick?” But now he was second guessing himself, because even though he knew the name, he wasn’t sure if he even remembered who that was either. The hell, why did that name come so naturally to him, and why was he so sure that person used to sit at the table with them?

But, Mom only shook her head, still with that lost look on her face as she looked to be fighting to remember anyone like that. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, honey. Is that a friend from school?”

Morty shook his head, now getting frustrated he had remembered this random name all of a sudden, but couldn’t place who in the fuck it was. It had just come to him in that moment, he had just remembered, and he was so sure it was because someone used to sit next to him at the dinner table, someone used to chat with them and make jokes, and be loud—but it was failing him. Maybe he was imagining this whole scenario and nothing like that ever happened. “N-no, I just.” He felt his face blush with embarrassment at having ever brought it up to begin with as he looked down at his food and picked at his peas. “I-I thought someone else used to—used to sit with us.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other, before back at him, and Dad shrugged before speaking. “Nope. Maybe you had a weird dream while you were in the hospital, kiddo.”

Morty nodded to himself, still picking at his food. Yeah. Maybe that was it. Just a weird dream. He’d dreamt of someone with that name and forgot their face, and maybe in his dream, that person sat with them at the table or something, but. He couldn’t remember anyone else living with them. Maybe he’d made it all up after all.

Once dinner was over, Morty went to put his plate away in the dishwasher, but was shooed away by his mother. “No, no, honey, you’ve had a hard day. Go to your room and relax.” Before taking the plate away from him, she pat at his shoulder and led him toward the entrance of the kitchen, pushing at him to go and leave it all to her.

Morty wasn’t about to argue with his mom if she wasn’t going to make him do anymore extra chores, but couldn’t help but feel a little guilty all this extra coddling they were doing to him. Like he’d been in a terrible accident and not just fallen down the stairs.

For all he knew, he could’ve been in some horrific crash and almost died, and everyone was just telling him he had fallen down the stairs. It wasn’t like Morty knew what had happened. The last thing he remembered was being at school and—well, doing school work. Sitting in class, zoning out as his teacher lectured about political science and reminded everyone not to forget their research papers that were definitely due next week—and then next thing he knew, he was awake in the hospital, confused as all get out with Mom and Dad hanging over him.

He was probably making a big deal out of this, but it just felt a little odd. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a terrible accident and his mom was downplaying it to keep him safe. Even Summer had freaked out and admitted people were making out like he’d had broken limbs and whatnot.

Had he really only fallen down the stairs?

Apart from the headache that still plagued the back of his head all day, he didn’t feel anymore worse for wear than usual. He had no broken bones, nothing fractured, no pulled muscles, not even sore limbs. Just a headache. He figured if he had fallen down the stairs enough to knock himself out, surely he would have broken his arm or something. Gotten a little beat up in the process, but as he looked down at his arms, slowly moving them around to check himself out, saw no scratches, not even a bruise, nothing to show he’d had any type of fall to begin with.

Maybe he was making too big a deal out of it. After all, his parents seemed relieved he was saved, and even Summer was being a lot nicer to him. Maybe he should take advantage of it and just soak up the time when they were kissing his ass.

As he walked past the hallway, he stopped short, right before he passed the spare room they always kept full of junk. Peeking his head through, he saw it was full of boxes and assortment of other things like old clothes and some of Summer’s baby toys and things like that.

But. He had a weird feeling too that something was wrong. Like maybe, this room wasn’t supposed to be here. Or maybe, that feeling he had earlier like someone used to live with them, maybe this used to be their bedroom. Had anyone ever stayed with them before in a guest room? Usually if they had guests who stayed overnight, he and Summer had to give up their rooms in favor of sleeping on the couch, but he could’ve sworn a long time ago, this room used to be a bedroom too.

Maybe he had dreamt that too.

He tried not to worry too hard about it. It was a familiar, yet fleeting feeling, and the moment he thought about it, realized—of course nobody had ever stayed in this room. It was a storage room and had always been that. Feeling stupid, he left without a second thought and climbed the stairs before plopping himself back down at his desk and went back to revising his paper.

* * *

 

A strange bubbling sound brought him to his senses and he had a sensation as though there was a prevalent fog surrounding his mind. Morty couldn’t move. Couldn’t open his eyes as he lay flat on his back, the feeling of a heavy weight on top of him keeping him flattened to the surface underneath him.

He was cold, that much was obvious, but why, he didn’t know. When he felt the chill in the air take hold of him, he shivered, trying to will his eyes open, and only saw a blur of darkness at first. He tried to open his mouth, but it was like he couldn’t force his muscles to move, no matter how hard he tried to will it. His eyes were refusing to focus, and all he saw was a blur of blue and black, but no shapes would come to him.

But, he became aware of something heavy on top of him. A grunting sound. A pair of hands gripped his arms and it was unmistakable the feeling, although he was still coming out of this foggy sensation, of someone crawling on top of him, straddling him.

Again, he tried to open his eyes, but even if he did, could see nothing.

The hands gripping his arms squeezed too hard, and he winced at first, wishing he could move, wishing he could wake up enough to figure out what the hell was going on. Someone was on top of him, someone was straddling him, that much had become apparent to him, but he couldn’t for the life of him bring himself out of this groggy state that felt as though he were in perpetual half sleep.

He tried to open his mouth again, and whatever words he tried to form a question only mumbled out in a slur of nonsense.

But, he heard the person on top of him shush him. It was strangely calm, even in this moment, even as he was starting to feel suffocated under this feeling of the weight on top of him, like they were pushing their whole body onto him with every second. He wanted to shove them off, wanted to tell them he couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t.

Morty mumbled again, trying to form a sentence, maybe one word, it didn’t matter what it was, just as long as it was something, but he couldn’t. Once again, he slurred out nonsense when he tried to form a question.

“Shh.” The person above him shushed him once again, before he felt their weight shift, and something warm press against his mouth.

It was soft at first, and he could have even considered it pleasant, but then he became aware of something wet and warm shoving itself into his mouth, and Morty had only a few seconds of confusion before he realized he was being kissed. The person on top of him was shoving their tongue into his mouth, and he felt their hands come to his hair, yanking at his roots, would have caused him to yelp out in pain had he had the ability to wake himself up, but his senses were dulled, and he only lay there, moaning into their mouth as they kissed, until he felt the chill in the air hit the wet surface of his mouth.

They seemed desperate, and were sloppy with their kisses, pulling his hair back to move his face back up and kiss him again. And again. He felt their body relax on top of his, until he felt smothered, and he wanted to push against them, tell them please, he couldn’t breathe, just get off him, he couldn’t catch his breath.

When they leaned back for another kiss, Morty dared open his eyes once again, the blur in his vision cleared, the blue glow around him lighting up what little he could see. He could see a blurry face in front of him, slowly clearing up, slowly coming to as he saw who was kissing him.

He was still in too groggy a state to protest much when he saw someone he didn’t recognize straddling him, holding his wrists down. An older man. Way older than him. Way too old to be doing something like this to someone like Morty. He felt the horror creep in his stomach when he realized this person was kissing him—he’d just been kissed multiple times by him—this old man shoved his tongue in his mouth, but he leaned up once he saw Morty was staring at him, his vision having cleared enough to give him the view he honestly wished he hadn’t seen now.

He didn’t recognize him. But, he felt as though he’d stopped breathing as he lay there, being straddled by this old man, being stared at as though he were about to be devoured, and he would have screamed had he any energy to do so. He would have fought, kicked and shoved, had his muscles responded to him, but he lay there, and could only stare, the horror slowly sinking in with each second that some old guy he didn’t know was making out with him in his sleep.

The old man looked surprised, and only hissed through his teeth, “ _Fuck_ ” before he leaned over Morty to some device that was positioned next to him. He couldn’t see in the dreary lighting, not that he even had the energy to turn his head away from the old man’s face, but he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He was frozen, and the old man flicked some button next to him, causing a machine to whir to life, before Morty felt himself grow sleepy in an instant.

The groggy feeling took him within the next few seconds and he saw black in his vision once more.

* * *

 

Morty shot up in bed, just as his mother walked in through his bedroom door, and she jumped back at his sudden move, but he felt like his heart was about to beat straight from his chest. He was sweating in the way he would run for cover at school from the bullies who would chase him until he hid out in the bathroom, but he clutched his blanket, feeling himself begin to shake, even as Mom rushed to his side and grip at his shoulders.

“Morty, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

Bad dream wasn’t even the half of it. He felt like he was still being suffocated, being held down by that old man and could still _feel_ the way his fucking mouth felt on him, but as he looked up at his mom, at her concerned expression, knew there was no way he could admit he just had a dream he’d been fondled by some old guy. Jeez, what the hell was wrong with him? The only way it could’ve been worse was if he’d woken up with morning wood with it. Ugh, he tried not to imagine that, getting off to a dream like that. That was the worst. But, he tried to bite down his blush and ignore the look on his mom’s face in favor of downplaying it for her.

“Y-yeah.” Even though he was still shaking, still trying to get over how vivid it felt, it wasn’t like he’d never had super vivid dreams before like that—but holy shit. “Just a-a-a nightmare.” He was trying to forget how suffocated he’d felt, how hard it was to wake up, only to see the image of an old guy making out with him. Ugh, gross. What kind of messed up porn had he been jacking it to lately to dream up something like that?

Mom pat his back, rubbing soothing circles on him. “It was just a dream, sweetie. I know they’re hard not to think about, but you’ll get over it soon. Come on, I fixed you breakfast.”

He perked up a little. Breakfast? Mom never made him breakfast. He forgot he was supposed to be going to school today, and hopped out of bed, surprised his mother had bothered to fix him breakfast. Or even came up here to wake him up. She hadn’t done that since he was in middle school, as the older they got, the more responsibilities they were expected to have, and that included waking themselves up for school every day.

Was she really coddling him because of the accident? Maybe she felt guilty. He really didn’t know, but maybe he shouldn’t question it so much. If she wanted to do extra things for him, he should be grateful for the special treatment and just accept it.

Straightening himself out, Morty followed his mother to the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

Dad drove him to school that morning, which wasn’t all that unusual, but Morty still felt a little strange popping from his dad’s car once they drove up to the entrance way of the school. He couldn’t remember the last time Dad of all people drove him and his sister to school. Most times he encouraged them to take the bus, or made excuses for Mom to take them. Though, once the building popped up into view, there they were, climbing out of the car, while Dad told him to be careful that day, which he supposed was to mean not fall down anymore stairs.

If that’s even what happened to him.

Summer was unusually clingy with him that morning too. Before they parted ways once they walked through the front doors, she hugged him again, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why his sister was acting this way. Did she really think something terrible had happened to him and was just worried for him because of that? Or, did something even more terrible than he imagined actually happened to him that his parents weren’t telling him and Summer had all the right to be worried for him?

Once he was alone at his locker, he let out a sigh as he once again looked down at his arms. No signs of bruises, no scratches, no indication he had even had an accident. As far as he knew, he’d just woken up in the hospital with a headache and that was that. What a weird thing for his family to lie to him about though, even if he had been in a bad accident—why wouldn’t they tell him what happened?

“Hey, Morty.”

 _Whoa shit_ —he almost tripped over himself as he turned to see Jessica standing right behind him. He hadn’t even heard her approach him, but she was staring at him as though worried for some reason, and he instinctually backed up against his locker, face hot and flushed. Oh jeez, why did Jessica of all people have to corner him like this? He always got nervous around her—and if her boyfriend saw her chatting with him, he knew he’d have more than a headache to worry about later.

But, he tried to play it cool. Seem like he wasn’t nervous as all hell as he stood there sweating, his back flattened against his locker as he stood staring at her perfect face, and what he knew was no doubt a dumbass look on his face. “H-hi-hi, J-Jessica.”

She wasted no time in broaching the subject. “I heard you were in an accident, are you okay?” And even moved in a little too close to him, so much that he was sure he started sweating even harder near her.

“Y-yeah, I, um…” His voice started shaking as he explained himself, though it sounded stupid no matter how he phrased it. “F-fell down th-th-the stairs. Haha…” And the nervous laugh he made didn’t help any. He tried to turn his gaze elsewhere, somewhere other than Jessica’s concerned expression, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do that, no matter how much he started sweating and shaking.

“Really? The ambulance came and—I wasn’t sure how bad you hurt yourself.”

Wait, really? The ambulance? He pulled himself off his locker for a moment, staring back at Jessica and mirroring her concerned expression. “For real? The ambulance?” The fuck kind of fall did he really have? There was no way he just—fell down the stairs and hit his head.

She nodded. “Yeah, they pulled you away on a stretcher and everything.”

It felt like the longer he tried to figure out what in the fuck happened, the more his headache began to pound, and he reached up to cradle his forehead. “O-oh boy, that’s—uh. I-I-I don’t even remember falling though?” Plus, he wasn’t banged up or anything. If Morty really did fall down the stairs, he should’ve had bruises, scratches, _something_ to show he had actually fallen.

“You poor thing, you don’t even remember? I didn’t see what happened, so I can’t really say, but all I know is they were saying you’d hurt yourself in the stairwell and then the ambulance was here.”

“The stairwell…” Morty tried to think back to when he’d even needed to use the stairwell, other than going down to the basement for science supplies with his classmates. There wasn’t really a need for the stairwell since they weren’t even a big school to begin with, but why would he be so clumsy as to trip and fall enough for the freaking ambulance to come and haul him away?

Ugh, the more he tried to remember, the more it confused him. There wasn’t a memory there of him climbing the stairs, there was no memory of a fall. He remembered being in class and then next thing he knew, he was awake in the hospital, confused. And he was still confused. None of this made any goddamn sense, and it was frustrating not remembering anything that happened. All he had to go on were the things people told him, so he really couldn’t afford to doubt them.

But, he couldn’t help but think something was wrong. If he really had fallen, then he should have a broken leg, or a sprained ankle or hell, _something_. Something to show he had fallen, and not just a headache. He couldn’t imagine falling down the stairs, those stairs, the concrete ones, and not at least have some bruises from those. That didn’t make any goddamn sense. And the way his parents spoke, he was only in the hospital for a couple of hours after he’d been knocked out. It wasn’t like he’d been there for days or anything.

He looked back up at Jessica, at her concerned face, and couldn’t help but frown in confusion at her. This was weird, something so weird was going on, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the fuck it was.

“Are you okay?” She tilted her head to the side, like a cat would after eyeing something curious, and he nodded, although he wasn’t. He lied for her sake.

“Yeah, I-I-just a headache.” All of this sudden attention from her was overwhelming him. He couldn’t remember the last time Jessica said two words to him, let alone had a whole conversation with him like this. She was too busy hanging out with her boyfriend to notice him, but— He couldn’t help but blush around her and as weird as things were right now, be grateful she’d even stopped to ask him how he was doing. Jessica was so nice to him. No wonder she was too perfect, even for him.

“Aw, I’m sorry. Do you think you should go home for the day?”

“N-nah, I-I-I gotta test and-and some stuff to worry about.” He shrugged, trying to appear cool and nonchalant for her. “Y-yeah…”

Tugging a piece of her hair behind her ear, Jessica gave him a soft smile before turning on her heels and away from him, and Morty thought his heart was going to thump from his chest. Hoooooly shit, did that just happen? Did Jessica really stop by his locker and talk to him like that? Did he really have a normal conversation with her—well, as normal as that could have gone, but whatever. It was good enough for him.

Christ, he felt his knees go wobbly, even as he turned to gather the rest of his books from his locker, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. As weird as this was, he wasn’t about to complain if Jessica wanted to worry about him. Hell, he might even fall down the stairs on purpose if it meant she would cradle his head in her lap. Actually, that was kind of psychotic, he would never do that, but he still fantasized about her in that way nonetheless.

Even during class, when he sat daydreaming about it, about how Jessica looked so worried about him and even took time out of her morning routine to simply talk to him, let alone think him worthy of her attention, he heard not one word his teacher said the entire time he lectured.

Until he mentioned their research papers. Morty jumped from his daydreams, scrambling through his notebook to produce his paper he worked on last night. This was going to be one of the rare moments he actually worked hard on one of his papers, but just as he pulled out the sloppily stabled papers, the teacher suddenly appeared next to him before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

He looked up, blinking in confusion. “Huh?”

The teacher pat at his shoulder again. “You were in the hospital yesterday, right? They said you had an accident, so don’t worry about the paper for now.”

But...he actually finished it last night. Even though it was kind of halfassed and stuff, he still actually did his homework for once.

The teacher kept talking. “Don’t worry, I’ll cut you a little slack. Don’t worry about it.” And he walked back to the front of the room, leaving Morty behind at his desk, still clutching at the edge of his papers and staring.

What...the hell? The teacher was just gonna let him slide by without turning in his paper? Morty looked back down at his research paper, that—even though he’d typed it out—had random errors in it and common misspellings and stuff he could easily go back and fix if he took the time to sit down and work on it hard enough. But, he didn’t think the teacher was going to give him a break and let him get away with this. Even though he’d put off doing this paper for like, what was it, a week now? He deserved to get a failing grade on it the way he rushed it last night.

But, he sat back in his chair, sliding down and feeling a little guilty he was getting this type of special treatment. Everyone kept talking about this horrific accident he’d been in, but what was so terrible about a fall that knocked him out that everyone basically had to lick his ass for it? Morty didn’t know if his ‘accident’ was all that terrible, considering he didn’t even remember it. But Jesus, he barely had a scratch on him. He was fine.

It was stupid, because any other time he’d be jumping for joy at the fact the teacher was giving him extra time on an assignment, but now he just—he felt undeserving. Even after the whole class was given no homework for that evening, which gave him more time to fix his paper, he felt he shouldn’t be the one to get this type of special treatment.

After all, how bad could that fall have been really?

As he gathered his books (or rather put them away) for that evening, another familiar voice spoke behind him at the lockers that afternoon. “Hey, Morty.”

He turned to see Jessica’s current boyfriend looming behind him, and felt like he may as well shove himself inside his own locker at that point. He knew he wasn’t going to take kindly to him chatting with her that morning, but it wasn’t like Morty initiated that.

Immediately, he began to think of an excuse and stuttered as a response, but Brad cut him off.

“Hey, come on, I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just wanted to say Jessica was worried about you and stuff. It’s no big deal.” He shrugged.

Morty just stared. Okay, something was really, really wrong here. Something was very wrong. Brad should’ve been shoving him inside a locker, or pushing him up against the wall, or knocking his teeth out. Or at the very least, threatening him until Morty pissed his pants. What the fuck was going on. “Y-you’re not gonna kick my ass?”

Brad stared back, now looking confused. “Why would I kick your ass?”

Morty only continued to stare, so confused, he wanted to swear out in frustration. Why was everyone acting like this? Why wasn’t the bully bullying him? Why was his crush who never noticed him suddenly being nice to him? Why was the teacher letting him off the hook with homework when he never got that kind of treatment before?

Why wouldn’t his parents tell him the truth about his accident? Maybe something very horrible actually did happen, and they couldn’t bring themselves to tell him, because they were worried about him and wanted to protect him.

But, Morty wanted answers. This was driving him insane. Everyone was acting weird and this weird coddling thing was creeping him out.

He grabbed his books, slung his backpack over his shoulder and tore himself from the building. His parents were going to tell him what actually happened whether they wanted to or not. He was going to yank the truth out of them one way or another.

* * *

 

“Mom?”

They all sat around the dinner table, and once again, Mom and Dad were having a pleasant conversation while Summer sat engaged on the opposite end. Everything was normal, but maybe that was wrong. Something felt really off about this whole thing, and Morty was confused why his parents weren’t arguing over bills and money, or arguing in general about their relationship. He couldn’t remember the last time they weren’t hostile toward one another, and for everything to be this—calm, was making him tense. Something was wrong.

“Yes, honey?” Mom looked up from her spaghetti to eye him curiously and he poked at his food with his fork.

But, he wasn’t about to back down from this. Morty wanted some answers goddammit. “W-w-are you s-sure I just fell down the stairs yesterday?” He looked up at her face, to see if there was any change in her expression. Any indication she was lying to him.

But, she only smiled. “That’s what they told us.”

He perked up. “Wh-what who told you? Who’s they?”

“Your teachers. Honey, nobody saw the fall, they only saw you unconscious in the stairwell and they called the ambulance. They weren’t sure how hurt you were.”

Morty squeezed his fork, suddenly feeling ill as his mom spoke to him. He wasn’t the clumsy type, and he couldn’t remember the last time he tripped over anything, but he had a thought at listening to her story. “D-do you think someone pushed me? I-I can’t imagine myself tripping down the stairs, Mom.”

Mom laughed. So did Dad. They looked off at each other before back at him and Dad let out a chortle only a dad could do before he spoke. “Son, do you really think someone would go so far as to push you down the stairs? I mean, how many enemies have you made at that school?”

Morty felt his face flush. He knew how absurd the thought was, but he wouldn’t put it past some the bullies to off and push him if they really wanted to. He looked back down at his noodles, his face still hot. “B-but. I’m not hurt or anything. How c-could I-I have only fallen down the s-stairs and gotten away with a headache?”

“I think you’re thinking way too hard about this, honey.” Mom took a sip from her glass and Morty brought his head back up to look at her. They were both so nonchalant, not in the least worried about anything. He couldn’t shake the feeling how wrong that felt, and how wrong all of this felt. There was something they weren’t telling him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and they only continued to brush him off whenever he’d press the subject.

All he could do for now was go back to his room, try and work on his paper, and flop onto his bed as he tried to force himself to sleep. Obviously, his parents weren’t going to give him any answers. He thought maybe he could question his teachers, maybe one of them would tell him something he wanted to hear—like that when they found him he was actually bloody and mangled in that stairwell, but that didn’t explain how he didn’t have a scratch on him. Maybe he didn’t have a fall at all, and the accident was something different. Maybe he was in a car crash or something. But, that still didn’t explain how he didn’t have a scratch on him.

He began to drift off to sleep, frustrated he had no more answers than he started off with.

* * *

 

He felt cold again. What a strange sensation to feel cold in a dream, but he definitely felt it. When he tried to open his eyes, he felt that groggy state that was as though it were covering his entire mind, and he took a moment to swallow and wet his throat. He was so parched, it was like he hadn’t had anything to drink in days, and he fought through the initial confusion of waking up and wanting to beg for water.

Morty opened his eyes, and his vision was clouded with the darkness of the room. There was the blue glow around him, and he could only assume they were coming from neon colored lights of some sort. It was all around him. Some sort of computer sat next to him, blinking with multiple colored lights as well, but nothing he could make out other than color.

He opened his mouth, and managed to mumble out, “W...water…” in his haze. That was the only thing on his mind at first. He was so confused, so tired and wanted to go back to sleep, but also his body seemed to be fighting this and trying to wake up. But, he wanted water right now. He wanted to wet his dry throat, and that was all he could think of. “W...water….” Again, he mumbled the same thing again as though a glass of water would magically appear in front of him.

But, there was a figure who appeared in his vision then, as much as he tried to clear his view and make them out, he was so clouded with sleep and confusion, he didn’t see who it was in the darkness. But their voice, their voice was low and gruff. “I-I can’t give you water, Morty. You might choke on it.”

The simple dismissal, for some reason, made him reel back on himself, and he couldn’t control himself when he began to cry. It was just a glass of water, but some for some reason, being denied that upon waking up, when he was so thirsty, and felt it was a simple request, made him lose control of his emotions. He would never have cried over something so stupid had he been himself. He didn’t even know why he was crying over it, but he could feel the tears fall from his eyes at being refused water, and he could do nothing but let them. He just wanted water. He just wanted to wet his dry throat. That felt like the worst thing in the world for some reason.

“Hey, hey, come on.” The person spoke gently, almost as though they were trying to soothe a young child, and he heard the sound of footsteps when they came closer to him, and their face came into his vision.

Morty would have flinched back when he recognized that old man from before, when he would have freaked out over the realization that this was the same person who had made out with him in his sleep—but that was a dream, right? And this was a dream? Right? Morty was just having a super intense dream right now and he happened to be dreaming about the same person. Sometimes that happened, but it wasn’t like he could control what happened in his sleep anyway.

The person touched the side of his face, and he could only note how cold it was, how fucking cold it was compared to the rest of the room. He shivered underneath his touch and wanted to cower in fear at what he remembered happened last time he had a dream like this. The old man made out with him, and he was too groggy to bring himself up and run away, or fight him off. Who the fuck even was this person? Why was he having vivid dreams like this of some old guy touching him? Morty was only confusing himself as he lay there, crying because he couldn’t drink water, only feeling gross and like a piece of shit because he was confused what was happening.

He spoke to him once again, his voice still gentle, but oddly, Morty only shivered at the sound of it, at how strange it sounded to him. “You won’t be here long, Morty. D-d-don’t think about it too hard, okay? Y-you’re just dreaming.”

The old man ran his fingers through his hair and Morty shivered again, moving his head to the side in an attempt to distance himself, no matter how futile. But, he had to ask. As he stared back at this person, at this familiar room he’d dreamt of, and this person he kept seeing, he wondered. Was he supposed to know who this was? Was this a place he was supposed to know? “Wh-who...are you?” This old man knew him by name, so he obviously knew him somehow. But, Morty had no idea who the fuck this was.

The old man’s expression glossed over and he looked back at Morty with lidded eyes. With a dip, he bent over and in one quick motion, gripped the roots of Morty’s hair before kissing him on the mouth.

Morty was still too groggy to be in the state of mind to actually get up, scream, run away, but he reached out with both hands, trying to push the old man off him as he was kissed, as he yanked his head to the opposite side and pulled himself from the grip. “W-wait! I-I-I don’t even know you! I-I don’t kn-know…” He trailed off. This was fucked up, because if this was a dream, then why was he getting so terrified? But, there was no denying that creep of horror that fell down into the pit of his stomach. He had no idea who the fuck this was, or why he was kissing him. For all Morty knew, he’d been kidnapped and was being held prisoner in some underground laboratory. What if this was some hostage situation or something like that? What if this old man was holding him hostage?

“D-don’t worry about it.” He continued kissing him, until Morty was frozen underneath him, having pushed his hands out in front of him to shove the old man off, but they were now held against him, until he couldn’t move. He felt suffocated again, as this person pushed his weight onto him, and Morty was trapped.

The machine next to him whirred up again and the old man spoke out in an annoyed voice once it did.

“F-fucking finally, Jesus.” Before he leaned off Morty and looked back down at him. Even though Morty was shaking, terrified, as he did so. He didn’t understand why this was happening, who this was, or where he was. But, he began to feel groggy once again, just as the old man bent down and kissed him on the mouth, but Morty was too far gone to even push at him anymore. He leaned off only to speak to him in between kisses. “Y-you’re just dreaming, Morty. Th-this is just a bad dream, okay?”

Morty saw black, still tasting the old man as he dragged his tongue across his mouth before he awoke in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking. It was four in the morning as he caught a glance at his digital clock, the sun wasn’t even out yet, and he was shaking, fully awake from that dream and he covered his face in his hands.

Why? Why was he having messed up dreams like this? Why did he keep dreaming about that old guy he didn’t even know? And why was he always touching him and kissing him in his sleep? Was Morty supposed to know him? If he kept dreaming about him, and so vividly too, maybe it meant Morty knew him in the past. He didn’t know. He racked his brain, trying to pluck any memory he could in that moment and find that guy’s face, but nothing came up.

There was nobody like that he ever remembered knowing. He never existed to Morty, and the more he thought about it, the more it made him ill. He was dreaming about some old dude fondling him, some guy who knew him by name, and it was one thing to have a weird dream like that and forget about it, but this was the second night in a row he’d dreamt about him.

And it felt so real too. The way he leaned on top of him, and kissed him—Morty felt as though he was actually being held down onto his bed just then and forcibly kissed. His face flushed at the idea of being kissed like that. What the fuck, just what the fuck was going on? He wanted to cry in frustration that this kept happening, that he kept having these fucked up dreams, but he couldn’t.

They were just dreams. Even though they felt real, there wasn’t much he could do to control them.

He leaned back in bed, still coated in sweat as he tried to calm down. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was safe in bed now, even though it was four in the morning, and he was freaked out, he touched his blanket, squeezed it between his fingers, and that was real. He was real. His room was real. Morty pinched himself and felt the pain from that. He wasn’t dreaming anymore, because he could feel the pain from that. Moving from bed, he turned his fan on to cool off the sweat that’d been coating him and felt the cold wash over him. That was real.

He planted himself on the floor, trying to breathe and calm down. It was okay. He was okay. Although he didn’t plan to go back to sleep for the rest of the night, that was okay too.

He swallowed, trying to block out the dream and forget about it. He was going to be okay, maybe. He just had to try hard and not think about it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter might be the last idk but thanks all for your support :)

Class was so boring that day, Morty was having a hell of a time paying attention. After all, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before (for obvious reasons), and could feel himself drifting off with each passing second, even as the teacher droned on and on about what in the fuck ever. He’d stopped paying attention a long time ago.

Christ, this was never going to work. The more he tried to force himself to stay awake, the more his head dipped down as he rested his chin on his palm, feeling with each passing second the weight of his head trying to drop. Just a little nap, if he could sneak in a little nap, he would be fine. Maybe during lunch or something he could go somewhere like the library where it was quiet and take a nice little nap.

He felt himself slipping, as the teacher flipped through a pile of random papers on his desk, and someone next to him let out a soft giggle at something he wasn’t sure, but Morty had long since quit paying attention. Closing his eyes, just for a moment, no longer than that, he felt himself doze off right there in his seat. A nice, short nap would be amazing. Just a short one.

“Goddammit.”

Oh...that familiar voice again. Honestly, at this point, he should’ve been used to it, but for some reason, he just wasn’t. Morty couldn’t open his eyes, but he should have expected that. That groggy feeling hung over him and should have tipped him off immediately where he was, but he just couldn’t feel it in him to rise enough energy to pull himself out of this.

He felt something below him, and everything felt cold in that moment. His legs felt bare and exposed and he wanted to shiver, but he couldn’t. Something was on top of him, someone was smothering him, and he could only guess it was the old man. He was dreaming about the old man again.

Morty wanted to wake up, wanted to muster whatever he could to kick himself back awake, but that wasn’t happening. He couldn’t do it before, so there was no point in trying to do that now.

He opened his eyes again, seeing the blurry image of the old man above him, straddling him, and he tried to speak, tried to ask him why he was doing this to him. Why did he keep dreaming about him? Why did this keep happening over and over every time he went to sleep? That wasn’t normal. Nothing about this was normal, but all Morty’s questions faded into nothing when he felt the chill take over him again and he shivered, wishing he could have a blanket to wrap up in. This was the worst. Waking up cold was the worst, and he instinctively felt around for a blanket to cover himself with, but the old man’s hands came to his wrists and gripped him.

“Morty.” His voice was soft, but rough enough that Morty stopped moving, and he blinked the blur from his eyes. “M-Morty, you know th-this is all a dream, r-r-right?”

He saw his face then, clearly, as he leaned over him, straddling him, and Morty froze. He felt suffocated beneath him and couldn’t for the life of him wipe the grogginess from his mind enough to form anything coherent. He hated feeling this way. He hated feeling like things were in slow motion, or that he wasn’t in control of his own actions and couldn’t even form a basic sentence enough to ask a question. He couldn’t do it.

Was this really a dream? If it was a dream, then why did he keep dreaming about the same person over and over? Was Morty supposed to know who this was?

Did he know him?

He felt so weak lying there, feeling cold and at a loss for words as this person straddled him and held him down by his wrists. There was nothing he could do other than fight the sensation in his mind that everything was going wrong. Nobody wanted to help him. Nobody wanted to explain how injured he’d gotten during his fall, or why he’d ended up in the hospital or how come he didn’t have a scratch on him because of that.

It wasn’t because of this person, was it? Those two things couldn’t have been connected, could they? He was just a dream after all, how could a dream be connected to Morty falling in a stairwell and ending up in the hospital? That didn’t make any goddamn sense, no matter how he rolled it around in his head.

The old man moved above him, and Morty suddenly realized something. The chill in the air that had bothered him so much—when the old man moved and he felt him—he felt it when he grinded against him and Morty choked out a gasp when he was thrust up against—he was naked from the waist down. This guy had stripped him of his pants at some point, and he felt it when he thrust up into him—right between his legs—until Morty wanted to vomit.

He definitely felt it when some of the fog left his mind in that moment, because it was so obvious what this guy was doing to him—he choked on his own voice when he tried to wriggle beneath him, when he fought to move out from under him and get away from that feeling. With his wrists held down, there was little Morty could do but writhe on the spot as he was thrust up against again.

His voice finally came out, although barely a whisper, he fought so hard to get his words out, “S-stop…” And looked away from him as he felt the old man brush up against his crotch again. He was grinding on him, moaning above him as he did so, and every sound that bubbled out of his throat made Morty sink in on himself and he could feel a creep of horror drop into his stomach. He tried to move—he tried to move away, but was only held down as a response.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything in this state as this guy thrust up against him, until he could feel himself growing hard, and his face gushed with heat at the idea of this person getting him off like this. Morty wanted to hide, wanted to push this person off him and run away, but all he could do in that moment as he tried weakly to move was ride it out. The old man moaned above him, not stopping, and he lay beneath him, not looking at his face, feeling humiliated as he did this.

But, it was just a dream, right? A fucked up dream. Morty wasn’t a stranger to fucked up dreams after all. Still, his humiliation was present, and he could feel it as though it were real when he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on something else. He tried to imagine he was back at home doing something stupid like playing Minecraft or chugging sodas until his teeth hurt, but he couldn't ignore that feeling below him. That feeling he was climbing higher and higher, and he wanted it to stop, but it wasn’t going to stop, and he knew that.

He reached his peak and only felt even more shame when he gasped out a moan when he came. Somehow, in this fucked up dream, with this old man grinding up against his crotch, he made Morty come and he could feel it spurt out onto his stomach, only adding more to his humiliation. It felt so real. Why did something like that feel so real in this circumstance? He was supposed to be waking up from the intensity, he was supposed to be asleep in bed, moaning uncomfortably, waking up with a headache and a guilty feeling that he had gotten off to something this weird in a dream.

“That’s it…” The old man mumbled above him, as he continued grinding on him, and Morty could feel each and every movement he made, could hear his heavy breathing as though he were invading his body with it, and the shame never left him as his body felt like it was going to overflow with the overwhelming sensation of everything going on around him.

Morty wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. There would be no point in that, after all, but he was so frustrated lying there, doing nothing but taking it as this person moaned above him, his voice low and raspy, but so prominent in the way that he said Morty’s name over and over as he thrust against his crotch.

“Why…” Morty’s own voice moaned out as he could feel his body once again responding to the stimulus and he hated the fact he was moving with him. Why did it have to feel like this? Why did it feel so familiar too? He’d never done something like this with another boy, or another man. Not to his knowledge anyway. But, a creeping feeling settled into his stomach as he felt himself thrust up against him, his body responding in a way he didn’t understand. Like he could see himself doing this exact scenario in his bedroom one night. He was in this exact same position, with someone hanging over him, and he was saying these exact words.

But, nothing like that ever happened—right? Morty felt a brief familiar sensation in his body as he thrust against the old man, that deja vu feeling hitting him when he was sure he’d done this before—but not like this. It couldn’t have been like this.

Why was this person doing this to him?

He looked up into his face, despite his shame, despite not wanting to, and fought for any instance he might have seen this person before—an instance where he might have done something like this before. A memory where he was in his bedroom, lying flat on his back while someone grinded up against his crotch and whispered to him not to make too much noise unless he wanted his parents to hear.

It was all a dream. It had to be. He only felt his face flush with humiliation at the sight of the old man’s face, as his eyes lidded in concentration, as he moaned Morty’s name, as he held him down by his wrists and thrust up against him until Morty knew he was going to come again.

He was still in class. Sitting up in his desk with his chin rested in his palm, asleep, and this was all a fucked up nightmare he was having. It was stress. It had to be stress—or maybe he hit his head in a weird way that made him have dreams like this. Was that even possible? Was it possible to have reoccurring nightmares about the same person he didn’t even know after an accident he didn’t even remember?

His shame was soon swallowed down when he felt himself about to come again. The grip on his wrists tightened, and he almost cried out in pain from the feeling of the old man digging his nails into his skin. How could it feel like this in a nightmare? How could he feel something like this and feel like he was going to come and feel the old man grinding on him and suffocating him and—

Morty writhed underneath him when he choked out a moan—when he came again. He couldn’t stop himself from doing so and felt everything come out at once. His frustration, his shame, the feelings that this had happened before—Morty wished he could forget that. He almost sobbed in his position, but he didn’t dare do that. Any kind of emotion he wanted to express, Morty only closed his eyes, bit back his tears, and let his embarrassment show through the redness on his face, but he didn’t dare cry.

“I-it’s gonna be okay, Morty.” The old man had stopped thrusting against him, and instead he heard his voice coo out to him in that gentle coaxing manner, but Morty felt no comfort from it. He was too confused and humiliated to think he deserved comfort.

But, he opened his eyes, seeing a blur of tears that had stagnated that he refused to let fall, and saw this person smiling back at him, as though attempting some form of comfort. And this was familiar too. Morty could see himself in his bedroom, sitting up against his bed frame, curled into a ball and focusing on breathing as he tried so hard not to cry, as he fought with himself to push through this awful feeling of humiliation as someone ran their fingers through his hair and told him everything was going to be okay.

That was only a dream.

“D-do—a-a-am I supposed to know you?” His voice was shaken, but he didn’t break his stare. Maybe that was a dumb thing to ask in a dream, when it didn’t matter, but he could see the old man’s face fall little by little. It was like his mind was fighting so hard to remember something that wasn’t there, when he was sure something was there before. Maybe it wasn’t though and he was only making things up. Maybe this was all fake and his mind really was traumatized from a fall in the stairwell. Maybe Morty never woke up from the hospital and this whole thing was a dream—but, that would be insane.

The more dreams he had of this person, the more familiar he became to him. Until it felt like he was _supposed_ to know him, but forgot about him. Maybe he had significance in his life, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was some gas station attendant Morty met one day for five minutes while he bought a candy bar, but maybe this person was a creepy stalker who had kidnapped him—but this was just a dream. It held no bearing on his real life. Which was currently being in class not paying attention to a lecture.

The old man finally shook his head, looking off to the side as if unsure how to respond. “No.”

Morty wasn’t sure why he kept talking, but his words spilled out. “Th-then how come I-I keep dreaming a-about you? H-how come nobody w-will tell me a-anything. I-I was s-s-supposed to be in a s-s-stupid accident, b-but I-I don’t even r-remember.” He choked on his words and looked away so he didn’t have to see the old man’s face, but he continued. “Th-then I-I keep dreaming about you. And n-now I th-think I’m supposed to know you, a-and you won’t tell me anything either, b-but—”

“Morty.” The old man interrupted him, and he shut himself up, his cheeks burning, but he didn’t look at him. He only listened. “Y-you’re thinking t-too hard about it.”

His eyes were blurred with his tears, but he blinked them away as he made eye contact with him once again. “I-I’m just confused…”

“I know.” His face fell then, into an expression Morty could only identify as guilt. “But, you won’t have t-to worry about it for long, okay? D-don’t worry about it.”

Something came over him in that moment, when he felt his senses dull into that sense he was passing out, but Morty welcomed it for once. Darkness came over his vision and he snapped awake in class, his head having almost fallen from his palm and crashed into the desk, but he caught himself. His cheeks burned in embarrassment from having made such an awkward movement, but he tried not to think about it when he reminded himself everyone was just as bored as he was and probably didn’t notice. The teacher sure as hell didn’t seem to notice he’d dozed off for a moment there.

Despite his class nap, Morty felt exhausted when he made it to the lockers that day and grabbed his stuff. He didn’t even bother giving a glance over in Jessica’s direction when she passed him by. He was hoping she would just ignore him, but he wasn’t so lucky when she stopped right in front of him, clutching her books close to her chest.

“Hey, Morty!” He felt awkward as she called his name in a singsong tone, but he only glanced up at her for a moment before holding his head low once more. He felt like he wasn’t one hundred percent here and he was dozing off and on even while walking from place to place.

“H-hey…” He shyly responded, but couldn’t seem to muster the energy to freak out over her mere presence in front of him right now. He just wasn’t feeling it.

But, she wasted no time. “So, do you want to hang out this weekend?”

That made him perk up. “Huh?” Surely he’d heard that wrong? Why in the hell would Jessica want to hang out with him? Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted in his position and nervously looked around should her boyfriend pop out at them at any given moment. “U-um, d-d-don’t you, you know, h-have a boyfriend…”

“It’s okay!” She seemed almost too excited about it. “We’re taking a break so we’re not dating anymore.”

Since yesterday? Morty backed up against the lockers, feeling like a cold sweat had taken him over and he was going to pass out. Any other time he would have dropped everything he was doing to go and hang out with Jessica, but for some reason—

He was so overwhelmed. And this was bad. And it was stupid because he couldn’t describe why it felt bad that his crush was asking him to go hang out, but he knew it was bad. Something about it didn’t feel authentic in the least, and it was too forward, and there was no fucking way Jessica would be this interested in him like this—and somebody wasn’t telling him something about the accident—he started sweating.

“Morty, are you feeling okay?” He only saw when she reached over with her hand, as though about to feel his forehead for a fever, but he flinched away, moving out from the lockers and away from her.

“It’s fine.” His face was on fire and everything was wrong. He shouldn’t have been talking to Jessica like this, and he was questioning every second why in the fuck he was rejecting her like this when he would have fallen all over himself before—but it wasn’t right.

He looked up at her face, at her smiling, concerned face.

It wasn’t right.

“I-I have t-t-to go home.” And he gathered his backpack while trying to ignore the confused look on her face as he brushed past her and out the door.

* * *

 

Morty stared at the room piled with random junk that had always been there, even from childhood. He could remember thinking there were scary monsters in this room as a little kid and sleeping with a night light on so none of them could eat him while he lay huddled under the covers. He could remember when he and his sister were still young enough to play hide and seek together and he would hide in this room because she never thought to look for him there. He could remember thinking he’d lost a toy only to find out Mom had packed it away in this room a long time ago because she thought he’d outgrown it, but he didn’t want to admit he missed it.

This pile of trash had always been here. Even though he thought someone had pushed all the boxes out at one point and made a bedroom in here—that couldn’t have been right. Even though he could have sworn he’d passed by this room once and saw a poor excuse for a bed laid out with random shit all over the place and clothes on the floor. Right at home.

But, he stepped inside the room, hoping something would trigger his memory and he would just—remember. He would remember why it was familiar and why everything was wrong and why he was having those stupid nightmares every time he fell asleep. Maybe he could grasp something from a long time ago and he would understand.

But.

Looking at the boxes around him, ones labeled with holiday furniture or decorations and old clothes he could no longer fit in—he only sighed. Nobody used to live here. This was just a storage room. He felt stupid being in here, trying to reach back for something that wasn’t even there.

Morty looked down at his hands, wishing he understood why this was happening. Nothing made sense anymore, and he felt like he was going insane because of it. Everybody around him was coddling him way too much, and he felt like he was getting special favors from people who didn’t give two shits before—and it was creeping him out when it shouldn’t have.

“Morty?”

He didn’t have to turn to know Mom had stopped and spotted him in the storage room, but he did anyway, facing her worried expression.

“What are you doing in here? Lose something?”

He shook his head before looking back up at his mother. She wasn’t going to be honest with him, but he asked what he wanted to ask anyway. “Mom, a-are you sure nobody used t-to live in here?”

“I’m sure, honey.” She tilted her head to give him a confused look. “Why are you so sure somebody used to live here?”

He shrugged. “I-I don’t know.” And gripped at his arm nervously. “Everyone’s been acting so weird lately a-and I don’t know what to do.” Looking down for a moment, he broke the gaze he was holding with his mom for only a moment before lifting his head back up. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I-if something bad happened to me, y-you wouldn’t lie to me about it, r-right? Even if you think it would hurt me i-if I knew the truth?” He looked straight into her eyes, watching for any twitch, any tell, anything that would tell him she was lying to him right now.

Mom only smiled. “Of course, I would tell you, honey.” Gesturing for him to follow her out the door, Mom made a motion with her arm for him to leave the room. “I made some of your favorite dessert tonight. You should stop worrying so much.”

When he crossed the threshold, Morty could only feel a small ounce of contempt within himself at her words. “Y-you’ve been making m-my favorite food a lot.” She never did that. Only on special occasions if he was sick or the family pet died. But every night now.

“What’s wrong with spoiling my son?”

“Nothing, but…” He bit his lip as Mom put her hand on his back in a small motion to push him away from the room, like she didn’t want him staying in there any longer than needed. “Th-that only makes me think something b-bad happened even more, y-you know.”

Mom stopped for a moment, bending down to get to his level and looked him in the eye, no longer smiling. “Honey, you fell down the stairs and hurt yourself. I’m your mom, of course I’m going to worry about you.”

Morty should have felt like such an asshole at her words, because all he could hear was bullshit. There was no way this was true. “B-but…” He looked down at the floor, away from her. “Wh-why does everybody care so much? N-nobody c-cared about me before. E-everyone’s overwhelming me w-with this.”

“You’re upset because people care about you?”

He stopped, clutching at the fabric of his shirt and felt his face gush red. Saying it like that...made him sound so ungrateful, but he couldn’t get it across to her in the way he meant. He just wished Mom understood what he _meant_.

That everything was too perfect. Nobody was supposed to be like this. Nobody was supposed to coddle him. Summer wasn’t supposed to care this much about him—his crush wasn’t supposed to break up with her boyfriend to ask him out—

He looked up at Mom.

Mom wasn’t supposed to care this much.

And that was bad. Something about this was bad, and he knew it had to do with the person he kept dreaming about. It was driving him insane wishing he could make Mom understand, but she wasn’t.

Nobody was going to understand. And he knew then this was something he was going to have to figure out on his own. Even as Mom led him away from the storage room and to the dinner table, when Summer smiled at him and Dad asked him about his day, he knew they weren’t on his side and maybe hadn’t been from the start.

Morty sighed to himself, as he sank down in his seat and nibbled at his dinner.

He could always start with the school stairwell.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all the comments it's meant a lot to me!! ;-; I LOVE U ALL time to wrap this up!

The stairwell was quiet. It was one of those parts of the school that felt as though it were cut off from the rest of the world once you closed that heavy door behind you. The walls were grimy and aged with rust from years of neglect, and Morty stood at the top with his hand resting on the railing, trying to recall a time he had been in this spot, or any spot within this place to fall down these stairs. Slowly, he took a step, and descended the first set of stairs.

There was no memory he could recall even being in this place, or for what reason he would have lost his footing to crash hard enough to knock himself unconscious. With that in mind, he walked down another set, slowly, deliberate in the way he clutched the railing just in case he really was this clumsy and did fall. But. Maybe falling would trigger his memory and he would remember.

The stairs underneath him were concrete and only made him grimace at the idea he was supposed to have fallen down these things, but had no scratches or bruises to speak of. A fall to knock him out would have surely earned him a broken arm or a busted ankle. Something.

Morty reached the bottom and looked up at the staircase above him. It was too quiet in this place, the only noise being the random sounds of the wind howling through the building from the cracks and such, but he couldn’t quite place the idea of how wrong this was.

He looked down at his hands, counting the lines in his palms. No injury. No broken leg, no twisted arm, not even a busted lip to show for the fact he had ‘fallen’. Just the word from those around him saying this was how it had happened.

Morty sighed. Of course, he should have realized coming here wouldn’t have cleared up any mysteries for him, but he was still holding onto the small sliver of hope that—that maybe being in the place of his supposed accident would allow him to recall those memories. Maybe it would explain why everyone was being too nice to him. Maybe there was a reason everyone was too worried about him—and he’d actually been in a horrific accident.

He swallowed.

Maybe he was dead?

The thought made him shiver, but he quickly dismissed it. No...he couldn’t be dead. Death couldn’t have been something as superficial as this...even though he had no concept of what an afterlife would even be like. Maybe there was none, but—

Morty shook his head, trying to will the chill in the air that suddenly took hold of him. It wouldn’t do good to think of things like that, even though he was at a loss for what to even think right now.

He sighed, feeling defeated and stupid he had come all the way here after school and stayed late just to walk the stairs in hopes of digging up any clues.

Maybe he was being selfish and everyone really did just...care about him? Maybe Mom really worried for him because of this accident and felt the need to spoil him. Maybe Jessica was actually having problems with her boyfriend and decided to ditch him because he was a dick and realized Morty, although way below her league, wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe Summer realized this accident could have cost him serious injury and appreciated him more.

He swallowed again.

Or maybe that was all a big fat lie. Maybe this whole place was a big fat lie. Nothing could be this perfect—not even in death.

Morty looked to the top of the stairs once again and wondered for a moment—what if he just...fell? What if he ‘reenacted’ that accident and fell again, would that do anything? Would any of this even matter? Clutching at the railing and stepping onto the first step, he paused for a moment, feeling his chest constrict at the idea of flinging himself off the staircase in a desperate move to get answers.

If he was dead, then that wouldn’t matter, would it? But, if he were alive, he could seriously hurt himself and probably end up with worse than broken bones. The image of falling and snapping his neck back made him swallow as nerves took over. Morty didn’t want to die...not even to get answers.

He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white and stared down at his sneakers. Was he really being so selfish to question why everyone cared about him? Was it even selfish to consider that being perfect wasn’t perfect? That everything around him felt wrong all the time and it was because everything was perfect?

He started shaking.

What was wrong with him? He really was going crazy. Maybe he really was dead after all, to think of stupid things like this.

He looked back up at the staircase and felt the strangest sensation of deja vu. He could see himself at his house, doing the same thing, gripping the railing of the stairs while he gazed up at the darkened hallway that led to his bedroom. An overwhelming feeling of dread took him and he felt unsafe in his own home.

There was a dip in his stomach he hadn’t felt for a while. Shame and—and disgust. Like the fact he had to go into his own room was something horrible he didn’t want to do. But he knew the truth of why he felt so afraid to even climb those stairs and go there.

Someone was waiting for him. Though he couldn’t place their face for the goddamn life of him, Morty knew someone was waiting for him in his bedroom, their hands clasped together as they sat at the foot of his bed, hunched over expectantly and would stare at him like he was going to be devoured the moment he appeared in the doorway.

He couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling, this familiar feeling that took him, when he couldn’t even remember for sure if that had happened or not. Even though it was definitely there, he couldn’t even place the person. Who in the fuck would be hanging out in his room waiting for him like a creep and—

He felt his throat tighten as he gazed up at the dreary staircase in front of him.

When he knew the moment he walked through that door what he would have to do. How quiet he would have to be. How much he would argue and say no, but there was no other way around it and Morty would inevitably wind up on his hands and knees, with his pants pulled down around his ankles.

Shaking, his knuckles turned white as he could feel the cold in the air seep through him like his entire insides had frozen when he knew his face was smashed into his floor and there were hands in his hair, holding him down. When he said no, and tried to fight back, only to be told he would be found out by his parents and shunned. When he was told nobody would believe him.

When he was curled up on his bed afterward, trying to appear as small as possible and refusing to cry.

It wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.

Morty felt the sweat accumulate on his forehead as he stood in the stairwell, clutching the railing and refusing to let go as if that were the only thing keeping him sane right now. It was so clear in his mind, yet so far out of his reach because there wasn’t another person there, but there was.

Some faceless entity he couldn’t remember. Someone who had sneaked their way into his bedroom at night to say horrible things to him and make him do things he didn’t want to do.

Had that really happened?

Morty tried to compose himself in the stairwell, caught his breath and loosened his grip on the railing as he focused his gaze on his shoes once more. What if something bad like that had happened and Mom was covering up for it? What if they knew someone had done something awful to him, and the whole family was trying to keep it a secret from him? But, that didn’t explain why his whole school would know something like that and treat him this way either.

He could feel frustrated tears pour into his eyes, but he didn’t cry. Nothing made any goddamn sense, and he clenched his eyes shut to blink away the tears. Like fuck he was going to cry over something stupid like this. Maybe someone had sneaked into his room at night and done something bad—but maybe that was a dream, because he was confusing what was real and what was a dream. Maybe he died. Maybe he was okay and life was too perfect.

He didn’t fucking know anymore.

Maybe that guy he kept fucking in his sleep was connected to this somehow, maybe he was just having stress dreams from a traumatic event. But.

Morty looked to the top of the stairs again, and felt a boost of confidence he hadn’t before. Somehow he felt pulled toward this stupid idea of tossing himself down the stairs like a rag doll. It would probably kill him, and he didn’t want to die. But what if he was already dead then? It wouldn’t matter, would it?

He felt compelled as he began to climb the staircase, as his legs felt like jelly with every step that he took and he could feel the weight in his body sink down until it was like he weighed a thousand pounds all of a sudden.

Morty reached the top and stared down to the bottom. There was no way he would come out of this unscathed if he did decide to fling himself off. Every way he looked at it, he was looking at a broken leg, a fucked up arm, or even snapping his neck.

But.

He supposedly survived this once. If that’s all it was, then that was fine. He didn’t care. Just because everybody cared way too much about him right now when nothing made any goddamn sense didn’t mean that he had to.

Morty took a breath, swallowing. Gripping at the railing, he squeezed the metal underneath as though that would give him some boost of confidence that this would work as he prepared to jump. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prepared to feel the pain of the impact when he lifted his foot and toppled forward.

And his eyes snapped open into that room. The strange metallic room he kept seeing in his dreams with the neon colored lights and the strange machines all around him. Morty was breathing heavy, coated in sweat, as though he’d just got done sprinting a mile. He was laid up on what he could only guess was like a hospital bed, but with more wires attached to the sides, some of them connected to his wrists like an IV would be, but it looked way more complex and almost overdone in the way he was connected. It reminded him of the back of his tv stand, with all the wires and cables coming out, and he sat up in bed, trying to catch his breath and calm the beating of his heart that was thumping in his chest.

Then, that familiar voice came at his side. “Whoa, Morty, e-easy there.” That calm, way too collected voice that seemed as though he were trying to soothe him, but Morty flinched away when the old man appeared at his side, as though having magically appeared from thin air, but he gestured down to the wires that were hooked up to his body.

“Wh-what the fuck is this? Wh-what a-a-are you doing to me?” His voice came out shaky and pathetic, but this was unlike any of the other dreams he’d had where he’d wake up groggy as though drugged. Morty had never been more alert before, and now that he was gazing down at his arms, could see a pattern of scratches and bruises on himself he hadn’t noticed before.

Like someone had grabbed him too hard, or had been handling him roughly for a long time. Some bruises looked faded, but others looked fresh, and the sight made him sick to his stomach, but he only glared up at the old man who looked surprised to see him so freaked out like this.

Morty was tired of this. If he were truly dead, then he wanted this person to tell him so. He could handle being told he was dead. No, that was a lie, he definitely couldn’t, but he was sick of whatever in the _fuck_ was going on, and he just wanted some semblance of _normal_ again.

When the old man reached out as though to touch him, Morty flinched back, holding up his hands in front of him and causing the wires attached to him to stretch and pull. “No, don’t f- _fucking_ touch me! Tell me what’s g-g-going on!” He wished there wasn’t fear tugging at his voice, but there was. No matter how hard he tried to fight it—it drowned his voice and made him sound pathetic.

“Morty, trust me, y-you’re better off—”

But he wasn’t even going to give him the chance to finish that excuse. “Shut up! Y-you’re going to tell me right now.” He glared, hoping that, even though his voice was laced with fear, maybe his stare would be intimidating.

The old man stared back, his eyes lidded, and he glared. “Listen, Morty, if I-I tell you, you’re just g-going to beg me t-to make you forget again.”

His chest felt so tight, but he didn’t break his stare. “Th-the fuck do you m-mean, make me forget?”

“Just what I said.” He rolled his eyes before backing away from Morty and moved over to a cabinet, pulling out a series of tubes full of glowing liquid before moving back to Morty. He held up the tube as though that would offer clarity. “I wiped your memories. You don’t remember me, do you?”

He shook his head, though it wasn’t very confident. He _thought_ he didn’t know him, but he wasn’t sure anymore.

“Well, you’re j-just gonna bitch about it if I-I show you this.” He gestured toward the tube again. “Wh-why don’t you just relax and lie back down? Y-you must’ve killed yourself o-or something to fucking b-break all the shit like that.”

The tightening feeling around his chest only made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. All of the things this person was spouting off to him made not a single shit of sense of him, but he stared at the tube of glowing yellow liquid in his hands. The supposed answer to all his problems.

Morty didn’t back down. “T-tell me. I-I want to know.” He was tired of living like this. If that tube had some magical answer to all his problems, he wanted to fucking know it.

Yet again, the old man rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I-I warned you.” Without wasting a second, he twisted the tube into the machine that whirred to life next to Morty and he felt like he blacked out for a second.

But he was in his house.

Mom was crying because Dad left her and Morty could remember her reaching straight for the alcohol when it happened. The week she stayed drunk was the worst. Each day he came home from school looked like Mom had taken another personal day off from work to stay at home and recover, but he usually found her passed out in the kitchen corner with a wine bottle drained next to her.

Morty never had a sister. His dad didn’t want to keep in contact for some reason, and he never really gave a shit about his dad, but he worried for his mom even though she was a drinker, she was never—this bad.

Until her father showed up on their doorstep. Mom was elated when Rick came. When Rick walked into their lives and Rick made everything better. Mom stopped getting blackout drunk when Rick appeared and Morty could relax for a while as his mom went from gushing about her perfect father to reaching a level of happiness Morty had never seen when it was just her, him, and his dad.

So, he didn’t know what to do the first night Rick entered his bedroom and climbed into bed with him.

 _Beth won’t fucking believe you_.

Morty curled up into a ball at the head of his bed, trying not to think about it. Trying to convince himself he had a terrible nightmare and it hadn’t actually happened. He could lie to himself and say that all night long. Even when school was awful and he had to face him around the house while he pretended nothing had happened. When Mom was still so happy.

But, it kept happening.

Almost a nightly routine, until Morty was on his hands and knees getting fucked onto the floor having his hair pulled while he bit the blood from his lip out of fear of crying out in pain should his mother hear and walk in on him. Should she discover that her perfect father wasn’t perfect and drown her sorrows in alcohol again.

When Rick pushed him on his back and demanded he _look at him_ while he fucked him and Morty feared whatever happening if he didn’t do what he was told. When Morty went to school and began to snap at people because he was too ashamed of what happened at home and tried not to appear as though he were weak.

And Mom.

If Mom ever found out, he knew it would kill her.

He had accepted that a long time ago, and he stopped fighting. He stopped being angry because he couldn’t cry and he stopped feeling ashamed of himself for something that was—

So fucking—

Stupid.

He looked up at Rick the night he fucked him into the mattress and told him then and there—he wouldn’t tell Mom. No matter what he did to him, he could do whatever he wanted—Morty promised he wouldn’t tell on him. He would keep it a secret. He was tired of running around, but he was tired of hiding something like this from Mom.

He asked Rick to erase his memories.

He refused at first, but Morty didn’t let up.

Eventually, he didn’t have a mom anymore. There was no more school anymore. There was nothing else for him to worry about when Rick took him to the Citadel—or rather—when they were forced onto the Citadel with the others.

He begged him. Please, please erase his memories. He didn’t want to think of that anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Everything would be fine if he forgot.

And he could see the look on Rick’s face each time he begged, each time he was fucked into the floor or on the couch in their shitty apartment. He was wearing him down with this—he knew. Eventually, he would give in and Morty knew he would obtain some level of...happiness? Then. Maybe not happiness.

But something.

Rick had built his own basement into the apartment. He had some strange machine hooked up with wires and lights blinking and Morty had no idea what it was. But he turned to him when he showed him that day.

“E-everything’s gonna be fine, M-Morty. L-look what I-I built.”

He looked to the strange contraption, still unsure what it did, but Rick wasted no time explaining to him.

“I can make whatever world I want with this. You want to forget and get out of this place? I-I’ll make it happen, baby.”

Morty hugged at himself, still not quite sure what he was getting at, but he couldn’t help the empty pit in his stomach at the sight of the thing. At the idea of ‘getting out’ but not getting out. It wouldn’t be real.

Rick could see his expression just from where he stood, knew what he was thinking, and Morty heard the drop in his voice when he spoke next. “C-come on, don’t give me that look, Morty. I-it’ll be j-just like your old home. I-I’ll even program a sister for you i-if you want one. Y-you won’t have t-to worry about this shitty place anymore. It’ll feel real, I-I promise you.”

Morty shook his head. He just wanted to forget all this shit ever happening to him. He wanted to forget Rick sneaking into his room and shoving his fingers inside of him. He wanted to forget about Rick giving him an orgasm while he pleaded with him to stop touching him—and he wanted to forget all the times he sat in class not being able to concentrate because of the only thing going through his mind being his fucking creepy _grandpa_ fucking him at night.

He just wanted to be a normal teenager with normal problems and have a fucking dog and play Minecraft and be bad at math. Just like everybody else.

But, he sighed. If even in a simulated world, maybe it would be better than this. Hell, he knew, anything would be better than this.

He watched as Rick held up something—his memory gun he’d seen him use before to wipe people's memories—and Morty nodded. It was going to be better. It had to be better. He could forget about what happened and live a normal life.

A normal life.

Morty blinked again and saw himself in the room, the wires hooked up to him with Rick staring at him expectantly. He couldn’t help but look off to the side in shame when he was hit with too much realization at once. He wasn’t sure what was worse anymore. But, maybe that didn’t matter now.

“I-I tried to make things good—it was g-gonna be happy for you—but you had to freak out and bitch about it, like always.”

Morty felt his face heat up at the familiar sound of Rick berating him. He only looked down at the sheets covering him, covering his bruised body. And he knew then what this was about. He knew while he slept in that simulation, Rick was out here in the real world fucking up his body as much as he wanted. Morty wanted to vomit at the idea he was getting fucked in his sleep, but he couldn’t help but argue back to what he’d said to him.

“P-people a-aren’t that perfect…” This was real. He knew things were too good in that world, and he had to sigh in contempt. But, he wasn’t sure which was worse anymore.

“S-so you’d rather I-I program some assholes to fuck you up? Is that it?”

“No.” Morty was too tired to argue with him, but he could feel the fight in him waning. He never won when he argued with Rick. There was no point in fighting with him. He clutched the bedsheets around him, and felt his face heat up at the realization that was still hitting him. That he’d been fucked by Rick and taken away to the Citadel and he’d been drugged up under his basement for days in a simulated world.

It was too much, even with his memories back, and Morty knew that. Even when he tried to forget this and pretend nothing was wrong, even when Rick dared show him an ounce of sympathy and offer to let him live in a better world—it wasn’t going to fix anything. Nothing was going to fix it.

Morty sighed, just as Rick moved closer to him and extracted the glowing yellow tube from the machine. “So— You want me to take it away again, r-right?”

Morty shook his head, still staring at the wrinkles in his bedsheet. “No. It’s okay.” And felt the blush coat his face when he spoke his next sentence. “Th...thank you for trying.”

Rick only sighed, and Morty could tell he was no longer irritated at him. He always knew what to say to placate him, but that came from experience. It wasn’t like Morty didn’t know how to handle him when he got this way.

But.

He reached over, just as Rick went to pull the wires away from him, and Morty gripped at his wrist. “I…” He still couldn’t look at him, he still felt that awful, horrible feeling deep in his stomach, but he bit it down. It’s not like that mattered now. “I won’t c-c-complain about it anymore. I-I’m sorry.”

Instead of responding, Rick released the hold he had on him before gripping Morty by the collar of his shirt and pulling him forward, kissing him on the mouth, and Morty only made a small muffled sound of discomfort before kissing back. It wasn’t like he had much else to do anymore.

Rick pulled back, now the one looking off to the side as he spoke. “Hey, um…” He paused for a moment before opening his mouth to speak again. “If you want to forget, I-I mean—I’ll do it?”

Morty shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” And kissed Rick one more time before giving him a forced smile. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WANNA WRITE ANOTHER MORTICIA FIC so i'll be back ;D i don't really want to do this again lol i mean this was meant to be a oneshot and i tried to extend it and it got all messy n shit. oh yeah but this fic was based on a dream i had a looong time ago where basically the same thing happened (morty was in a coma in my dream but i changed that lol) see you guys soon! :D thanks again!! <3


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